


The Tiny Carbuncle of the Mediterranean

by Saku777



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical Hetalia, Romano isn't called south italy or Romano in this fic, a note on the description Romanos is a earlier form of Romano, but it is him, due to the time period and setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 02:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15087065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saku777/pseuds/Saku777
Summary: Although he is young and small Romanos is already tired and has seen many ages, years, and conflicts pass him by. Now known generally as Qibl'i he attempts to navigate one more day in his life under Arab rule, As he indulges in it's riches while also keeping that stubborn spirit up he keeps his heart guarded and knows deep inside stability can never last, but lives regardless.





	The Tiny Carbuncle of the Mediterranean

By the year 910 he had already seen ages pass and many lives end, but despite all that he remained in the body of a child, aging slowly like sap hardening into amber over the years. However his eyes betrayed their age. If people bothered to look closely, though not many did, they would have been unsettled by the centuries they found contained within them. 

He was tired. It had been about two hundred years since the Moorish invaders from the north of Africa had begun attacking him and his people and finally in 831, they had won and taken the capital. However even that was not the end, and even that hadn’t insured stability. Years later, back in north Africa the Fatiminds had taken over from the Alagabids and now they held the the power of the empire. 

To Qibl’i these power struggles concerned him little. He only cared about how they affected him and his people, since before he was a child he was a nation. That was his primary identity and reason for being. However the fact he was a child still influenced him, which meant that meant that even now he still missed his mother. She with hair the color of Dionysus’s groves, once Gracea now named Byzantine Empire as she aged and changed along with the ages yet remained constant within her core. A part of him was rather sorry in a way for all the tantrums he had thrown at her and times he had wailed. She had grown harsh, but she had been comforting too, and now her sweet scented arms were no longer there to climb into. He still wept at night, but hid his tears in the daylight sun for enough time had passed for him to do that at least.

The memories of her sometimes prompted more confusing ones. Ones from centuries before of a great being, once an empire, now gone but not forgotten. To the world he had been the great Roman Empire, but to Qibl’í he had been a father, both distant and adored. Yet behind both feelings were feelings of resentment, bitterness, and hurt. He remembered being left behind on the backwater island of Siclia for safety's sake as Rome had moved his capital and other son to the north. That had been the seed but not the end of his great bitterness towards him. Rome himself had meant no harm to the child he had known as Italia Suburbicaria, the southern half of the Roman state of Italia. It would merely be safer and better off in his mind if he left the boy on a safe part of his own territory. His heart would yearn less, he would be taken care of, and he was a strong boy. His younger son, the diocese of Italia Annonaria , however was smaller and softer and would remain in the north where he belonged and he still needed Rome unlike Italia Suburbicaria, or so he thought. 

However he had been wrong, it was not so. Italia Suburbicaria had been seriously hurt then, had wept and wondered why and came to the conclusion that he was unlovable and wrong. He thought that he had done something wrong and so sought to amend that with even more anger and bitterness and clung to Gracea, his own anchor despite her short visits. Then came the great Rome’s death and change slowly came, but she and her small visits remained a constant despite the battles between her and the Lombards who gradually came in the island. Even his very names changed, both his real and his human names. From Lovinus Romanus he had slowly become Lovinus Romanos, and in Rome’s day he had been Italia Suburbicaria and now he was simply Qibl’i. From the start he had been both the lower peninsula and Sicilia as Italian Suburbcaria and still he remained thus, despite both areas and peoples being ruled by different powers by now. Nevertheless the Arabs had captured him and upon him telling them that he was not simply the Emirate of Sicily they settled for a more ambiguous term that truly captured his nature, that of the entire south, that of Qibl’i

It had been a year since the Fatamids had overtaken the Alagabids and established their caliphate. However neither they themselves, nor the nations the dynasties had overtaken, bothered to visit Qibl’i. Instead, he had to deal and to contend with their Emir that they appointed to rule over him in their stead, his new boss. As always, Qibl’i wanted to make life as difficult as possible without making things difficult for himself and his people. He was a horribly spoiled child and his leaders soon learned that he was quickly pacified with ease. Thus in the end they took little of what he did seriously. 

Not long after the current Emir began ruling Qibl’i had thrown another horrible tantrum. He had been sitting in the palace, away from the bright oppressive Sicilian sun. However despite its beauty and its bright mosaics and golden gilt, he was staring sullenly at the Emir while lying on his side.

“Get up. I know you’re only a child but that’s no way to behave,” said a rather exasperated Emir trying to balance the fact that yes this was technically his Emirate he was ruling, but this was only a child of merely six. It was so complicated and mind boggling, how could a being hundreds of years old be only six, he thought. He was so tired of it all he internally asked Allah how it was all possible and wondered if such a being had a mind of a sage or a child. Sometimes he thought it was the latter, but there were a few unnerving periods where the former seemed to be true and he wasn’t sure which outcome he dreaded more.

As for Qibl’i, he did not feel like getting up in the slightest. He wanted to be difficult and took terrible pleasure in it. For not only were his Christians and Jews fueling his behavior, but also the Sunnis who were not exactly happy Shiite rulers were now in power and the draining of being split i two was worrisome and made him more irritable than he would of normally been. Qibl’i knew and cared little of sectarian Muslim issues, again being only six and remaining Christian. However their anger fueled him further and he used it at will. Three years later it would culminate in a revolt and the Emir never seeing Qibl’i again but for now it was limited to an ancient child’s tantrum.

“Shut up, I don’t wanna. I ain’t gonna pay your dumbass tax either. I won’t!” He resisted the impulse to throw something, that would be pushing his luck. The Emir rubbed his forehead and sighed, wondering if harshness or leiniance would work. Then he said, “So it seems you’ve finally accepted Allah into your heart. I’m so pleased and everyone else will be quite happy at hearing this as well.”

Qibl’i turned pale and quickly said, “Wh-what the fuck you bastard? I never said any of that bullshit!” Then Emir said, “Ah, but if you don’t pay your tax then it’s clear you’re showing that you want to devote your life to Allah and Muhammad's teachings, is it not? After all only us Muslims don’t pay the tax.” “But-”” 

Before he could finish the Emir got up and called a servant to him. After the man approached he whispered into his ear and Qibl’i watched suspiciously wondering what would happen and feeling very frustrated over this turn of events. A few moments later the servant left and returned with a bowl in his hand and handed it to the Emir who summoned him, for he refused to crouch and lower himself to Qibli’s level. 

Qibli’s curiosity got the better of him and he got up, wanting very badly to see what was in the bowl. What he saw made his stomach gurgle loudly and luckily the Emir lanaged to suppress a laugh at the young nation’s reaction. As for the bowl it was filled with fresh figs and peeled sugared oranges, juice dripping from each piece and all looking as bright as the jewels in the palace of Balarm, which would later be Palermo

“I’ve gotten a bit sidetracked,” the emir told Qibl’i, who was now jumping up and down right before him. “But I have grown hungry. However I’m not in the mood for sweets...still one must eat what one can and I suppose I shall have to suffer though these delights.” 

“No!” Qibl’i said. “You jerkass, if you don’t want it I’ll have it! Don’t have shit you’re not gonna enjoy in the first place!” It would be such a waste, thought Qibl’i. It would be best given to someone who could fully appreciate such a thing. If there was one thing he begrudgingly had to admit to himself it was that food had grown so much nicer and better since the Arabs had come. He had no idea how he had lived without oranges, sugar cane, and other such delights.

“But you’ve misbehaved so much and if you haven't accepted Allah into your heart then the fact that you haven’t paid your tax means even more bad behavior from you. So Qibl’i I truly do not see why I should give this to you.” He took a look at the fruits and popped one into his mouth at which Qibl’i let out a large whine and cry. “However if you pay your tax like a good Emirate then I could give you these. If you agree to do your chores, gain money for your tax, and then pay before tomorrow I shall give you these sweets. Do we have a deal?” 

Qibl’i didn’t see though the Emir’s tactics, he only wanted sweets. “Alright, alright! Just gimmie dammit!” And with that the Emir smiled and gave Qibl’i the bowl. He devoured it greedily, savoring every sweet golden ruby red drop.  
The Emir had had enough of Qibl’i, but before he left he said, “If you go back on your deal be warned I shall have to discipline you.” However he really didn’t know if he would follow through on that or just give Qibl’i more toys and food to shut him up. Qibl’i just nodded as he ate and he was left alone, which he realized once he had finished. 

The room was beautiful, with shining golden walls and looked like a part of heaven itself, but it was silent, large, and empty. Qibl’i felt a little sad and wondered if everyone hated him, but then decided to try not to care, which was not very successful. He did however have other things to occupy his mind, the money he needed to earn to pay his tax. 

The easiest way to do it was doing chores that he could request and get paid for, for the Alagabids had had pity on him and had long ago decided that a child didn’t have to pay the full tax. Instead they had said that Qibl’i could pay a reduced price that he could earn in exchange for doing small jobs and tasks befitting his status as a servant. Qibl’i considered this a burdensome thing and hated it, but he did it regardless.

Despite that he wasn’t above more underhanded measures when it came to earning his money. That was where the souks of Balarm came in, filled in abundance with products from across the mediterranean and even beyond. With the souks in mind he scampered off to escape the palace and quietly went into the midst of the city. The souks, or marketplaces, were wild areas, filled with the mass of humanity and all their sounds and smells. Filled with the very beings that made Qibl’i be and gave him life. 

Tents colored the area as a colorful mass of oranges, lemons, pomegranates, artichokes, and raisins colored the stalls. The pungent smell of cheeses, cinnamon, fresh salty seafood, just caught squid, and freshly slaughtered goats filled the area while bright red saffron laughed brightly at him as Qibl’i caught sight of it once he entered the market. People were milling about everywhere and merchants were calling out and wailing out their wares in hopes of catching the eye of hungry purchasers.

Everyone was busy, everyone wanted something, and so no one noticed a dark haired little boy with hazel colored eyes lined with kohl and tiny golden hoops in his ears as he crawled through the crowd. He had begun learning the skill of picking pockets and robbing a few hundred years ago and now he was an expert at it. Darting here and there Qibl’i kept his eye out for the wealthiest looking people and quietly and skillfully used his tiny hand to slip inside pouches and grab as many coins as was safely possible. 

He took care not to take too many, for being too greedy came with the risk of getting caught. Eventually he managed to collect as many coins as he needed, slipping each golden piece into a pouch he held around his neck to prevent getting stolen from himself. Satisfied with his efforts he allowed himself a treat, quietly taking a few figs and shoving them into his mouth. The seeds crunched against his teeth and the soft and succulent flesh formed a sticky purple mass against his mouth. What a job well done, he told himself proudly. 

Soon afterwards he crept back into the palace, despite being terribly dusty and dirty. One of his nursemaids caught him, and putting her hands on her hips she said, “Oh child what have you done? You’re a mess!”   
Qibl’i looked rather guilty but quickly said, “I-I was cleaning and doing work cause I have to! I have to pay the tax dammit!” 

She tugged on his ear and said, “Nevermind that, you can’t be seen in the palace like this. Come, I’ll give you a bath.” Qibl’i whined but only for show as baths could be terribly enjoyable and he liked being pampered afterwards as well. Yes he was only a servant, but servants had to be presentable in these times and among such company. 

His nursemaid had him sit in his room while she drew and heated a warm bath for him, given he was not yet a grown man (and Qibl’i often wondered when that would ever happen, if ever) she helped bathe him and would help him get ready afterwards as she always did. Once the water became warm she filled a large basin with it and helped Qibl’i get undressed, putting his dirty clothing to the side and taking out his earrings. 

She tried to help him in the bath, but Qibl’i feeling a little embarrassed, said, “I’ll do it myself, it’s fine dammit.” She nodded and kept an eye on him as he scrubbed up and splashed around, and even if he could be annoying she found it charming when he began to sing quietly to himself. She listened intently, making sure he never became aware that she was.

“M done, help me get out already,” he said. Her annoyance returned but she did so anyways. Then she helped dry him, applied perfumes and scented oils to his small chubby body, and dressed him in silk fabric and cotton in the style of the other Arabs.

Qibl’i again wondered how he had lived beforehand. It seemed inconceivable now that people could live without such things and was even a little happy that he got to dress thus despite being a servant. Then his nursemaid applied kohl to his eyes and put his small earrings back in “There, now go see the Emir and pay your tax already. I won’t keep you.” Qibl’i nodded at her and gave a tiny wave, which she returned as he went off to see the Emir.

The Emir happened to be talking with various other men in the same hall he had been in previously. They had come from all known corners of the world, scholars, poets, scientists, travelers, and merchants. Such visitors were usual in this part of the world so Qibl’i paid them no mind. “Hey old man!” Qibl’i said, to the response of tutting and sighing from the other people surrounding the Emir.

“Yes Qibl’i? Are you ready for the payment or still not yet?”

Qibl’i nodded and took out a bag of coins, “”Yeah dammit, here’s your shitty tax.” Qibl’i partly wanted to throw it at him but resisted. Instead he jangled it about for his own entertainment for a few moments and then just placed it the Emir’s hand. 

The Emir opened the bag and counted the money, then he gave a nod and said, “”Very good, now that wasn’t so hard was it? Next time make sure to not make such a fuss and pay like all the other Christians and Jews do, it’s not so much a burden for you to make such a fuss. You’re lucky you’re only a child.” The Emir figured that being a child Qibl’i was allowed some licence, he would have been much harsher had Qibl’i been older. Children were simple things and could be a easily dealt with, regardless if they were human or not. 

Qibl’i rubbed his nose and said, “Fine whatever. Can I go now or what?” The Emir gave a wave of his had and said, “You may go.” He did so and went off to entertain himself as he usually did day after day whenever he had free time. Despite all the food and objects he received though he never really felt close to the Emir, much less to the nations and dynasties that ruled him. He longed sometimes to leave the palace, to find real affection and stability. However since both his mother and father were no longer truly present in his life and since he had been taken over time after time a part of him doubted if it would ever come and if he would always remain thus. 

Three years later Qibli’s frustrations came to a rising bubble and Emir, Ibn Qurhub, told Qibl’i that he was going to be his only boss and that they were now independent. Qibl’i was confused but knew in the end it was not up to him and was roundly sick of everything. He wailed and wept while his body wracked with pain as the fighting went on and seemed to never end, not just this rebellion but over the long years, and he wondered if all the spices, oranges, and silks throughout the world were not worth all this chaos and turmoil. 

He heard wonderful stories, knew how to read, and loved the songs in Arabic, but he was tired and just wanted peace. In the end several years later, in 917, the Fatamids expelled Ibn Qurhub, killed both him and his son, and installed a new Emir. The fact that Qibl’i would never see him again made him feel a little sorry. He pondered once again for the thousandth time the problem of human death as much as his simple child self could, and he wept. Still life went on and peace reigned for twenty more years until again revolts happened, and his separated self underwent more misfortune, but for a small time at least Qibl’i could at least have some small tranquility. That was all he could count on as he lived day by day and from moment to moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: First of all while this isn’t important I have noted that a certain someone mocked my claim in a discord chat. Therefore I would like to clear some things about my interpretation of aph Romano/South Italy. I adhere to canon and draw huge influences from it, therefore in this fic Romano is about six years old. The reason for this is because when he was first born he was under Roman domain and not his own nation, then after that he continued to be taken over by various other powers including the Lombards, the Byzantines, and in this fic the Arabs, never truly gaining independence or being ruled by his own people but being ruled and controlled by others. Therefore despite his prosperity during this time period he is not fully grown due to his lack of control and autonomy as well as the internal issues and power struggles that also stunt his growth. Secondly I am aware that the Arabs only controlled Sicily (and a small portion of the peninsula but only for a short period) However I adhere that Romano is the entire south, the peninsula and Sicily with Sardinia only coming under his influence and becoming part of him later on. He is not just Sicily, nor is he just the south peninsula, he is both. In canon hima notes that Romano was influenced by the Arabs who took over sicily and has Arabic blood, in addition to this my Romano was born a little before Augustus’s reign and the creation of the empire. He fully formed once Augustus split the peninsula into various dioceses and further aged once the peninsula was further reorganized into a north,, Italia Annoniara, and the south, Italia Suburbcaria which consisted of Rome and the southern peninsula and Sicily, which I mentioned in the fic. Therefore my Romano has been that entire area since the days of Rome. Having his peoples and domain ruled by different powers and split also stunted his growth but the culture of sicily and the various cultures of the southern peninsula have all influenced him as has their peoples and histories. 
> 
> Secondly this is aph Romano/South Italy however he is referred to as Qibl’i here. Why? Well it’s to avoid a sense of predestination for one, two I believe their human names are not their ‘real names’ but rather just used for human convenience, three he’s not just the Emirate of Sicily nor is he just the the mess that is the southern peninsula, he’s the entire south and had been since Roman rule. Thus I picked a term the Arabs of that time seemed to use simply for south.
> 
> Now that that’s out of the way more relevant notes:
> 
> Sicily was invaded by the Arabs in 740 (though they first began their raids in 652) and was ruled as a emirate under their control from 831 to 1091. It was controlled by three dynasties during this period; the Sunni Alagabids, the Shiite Fataminds, and the Shiite Kalbids. This period focuses on a small part of the Fatamid dynasty who ruled over a majority Sunni population along with Christians and Jews. 
> 
> The Arabs conquered and took over Sicily slowly from the Byzantine empire. Despite this however they were fairly tolerant for their day, while being Islamic was prefered they allowed other faiths to co-exist with them as second class citizens called dhimmi, they simply had to pay two taxes called the jizya or poll tax and the kharaj or land tax. 
> 
> The Arabs too changed the island in a great many ways and still influence the culture to this day. They instituted land reforms, improved irrigation, introduced various foodstuffs to the island including oranges, lemons, pistachios, sugar cane, papyrus, and couscous among other things. They promoted a flowering of culture and learning as well, leading many scholars to go visit Palermo. Despite this prosperity inner dynasty fighting was commonplace as well as resentment by the rest of the population and Arab rule did not last, they were forced out by the Normans in 1091. In this fic specifically, the mentions of the takeover of the Fatimid Caliphate in 909 is alluded to as well as Emir Ibn Qurhub’s rebellion and defeat by the Caliphate. Several more revolts would follow after periods of peace and in 948 another revolt would place the Kalbids in power with sanction from the Fatimids.
> 
> The Arab’s influence remains to this day in things like the food, the markets of Sicily that remain to this day (which are the very same souks mentioned in the fic), the Sicilian language, the architecture, and even parts of the music and ways of life.
> 
> During Arab rule he rest of the southern peninsula was ruled by the Byzantines and various nobles and seperated into a few principalities and duchies ruled by Lombard nobles, the Arabs also had a hold on Bari for a short period of time as well. This time was a chaotic period with these holdings fighting for power, the involvement of the Papal States playing a role, and raids by the Arabs on the main peninsula.


End file.
